Aunt Jane
by CeliaEquus
Summary: Sometime between 'A Murder is Announced' and 'The Mirror Crack'd from Side to Side', she went from Miss Marple to Aunt Jane, to Insp. Dermot Craddock. But how did that happen? Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Agatha Christie characters, nor am I making any money from this. Based on the Joan Hickson TV series.


**Note: Based on the TV series starring Joan Hickson. They** _ **must**_ **ship Miss Marple and Sir Henry Clithering, as I do. Besides, John Castle as Inspector Craddock… *Drools* Although the connection between Craddock and Clithering is taken from book canon. I screwed with the timeline a teensy bit.**

"Aunt Jane"

"Good morning, Inspector Craddock."

 _Unexpectedly formal for her_ , Dermot Craddock thought as he trotted up the stairs of the spa. Then he did a double-take, and looked back as Jane Marple walked down to street level. Why was she here? _No doubt a present from Raymond. He's always doing things like that. Buying his way out of spending time with her._

He was allowed to be cynical. Raymond was her flesh-and-blood through one of Miss Marple's younger sisters. Dermot was merely a friend of the family, one of the ones who wasn't an honorary niece or nephew.

* * *

It began, he supposed, with a party. To see more of her family, Miss Marple had invited Raymond for tea at her house in St Mary Mead. He'd brought along Joyce Lemprière, who would later marry him, the parish clergyman, a solicitor friend, and Sir Henry Clithering. It was Joyce's idea to make it a weekly event, once they (aside from Miss Marple) had decided that they were all in ideal professions to solve crimes. Sir Henry had agreed, sporting of him considering that he was _retired_ (as though he knew the meaning of the word), and Miss Marple joined as well.

And proceeded to trounce each of them, all while knitting. Dermot wished he could've seen it. Any fly on the wall would be lucky.

He was visiting his mother after the first Tuesday night, when Sir Henry came home, staying with the Craddocks temporarily, and beamed as he spread his arms wide.

"I have met the woman I am going to marry," he declared. Dermot's mother choked on her tea, and he patted her half-heartedly on the back, staring at his godfather.

Not that anything happened. Not for awhile. At their age, you would've thought Uncle Henry would move faster, hook Miss Marple before they got much older. While Dermot rose through the ranks in the police service, having developed a love of solving mysteries from his godfather, some very slow, subtle courting was going on. For all Miss Marple was an excellent detective, she seemed completely oblivious to Uncle Henry's overtures.

"One day," Uncle Henry would say, a twinkle in his eye, whenever Dermot asked him how the courtship was progressing.

"Too many yesterdays," Dermot would mutter. But Uncle Henry remained chipper and hopeful.

He knew about Miss Marple's penchant for solving grisly crimes, but was unaware of her connection to Chipping Cleghorn. It was a small village; he should have known that she would have some godson or goddaughter or niece or nephew there, at the very least an old friend. The clergyman's wife? Even better; above suspicion, even though Miss Marple insisted that no one was above suspicion. It amused Dermot when Sergeant Fletcher told him what she'd said.

And then she went missing. His first thought was _Damn, that isn't good,_ and his second thought was _Uncle Henry will_ kill _me if anything happens to her_.

She was fine, safe with Fletcher, thank God. No need to tell Uncle Henry that anything untoward had happened. The case was wrapped up, and Dermot watched Miss Marple crack the case with absolute fascination. With a mind like that, he could see why his godfather was so taken with her. He always went for brains, still a bachelor because he'd never found anyone who met the standard of his ideal wife.

"I almost forgot," he said, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket. Miss Marple tilted her head, looking away from the Haynes-Swettenham wedding party. "A letter from Sir Henry Clithering."

"Ah, and how is your godfather?" she asked, accepting the envelope.

"Missing you," he replied. She glanced at him a moment, her eyes moving away in thought, and then she opened the missive. Dermot looked away, wondering whether he should leave, when Miss Marple tutted.

"I'll finish reading this when I get home to St Mary Mead," she said, tucking the letter into her handbag.

"Would you like a ride to the station?"

"Oh! Oh yes, that would be _very_ kind of you, Inspector Craddock."

"Please," he said, offering her his elbow. "Call me Dermot. You're practically one of the family."

"Now, I wouldn't say that," she said. Not even slightly flustered. Good luck to Uncle Henry. "But thank you. You may call me Aunt Jane, if you like."

He smiled. "Not until I have the right," he said.

She raised her eyebrows, but didn't comment on that.

* * *

Dermot continued to hear more about Miss Marple's cases on the grapevine, and his godfather's increasingly despairing attempts at wooing her. Sometimes he looked as though he wanted to beat his head against a brick wall.

"Perhaps you should be more overt?" Dermot suggested. The withering look Uncle Henry gave him said plenty about what he thought of that idea. "At your time of life—"

" _Dermot_."

He kept quiet about the matter after that. Until he heard about a murder in the Caribbean, of all places. Something about Miss Marple having been ill, Raymond – _dear_ Raymond – sending her overseas for her health, and Miss Marple uncovering a serial murderer. A typical busman's holiday. Scotland Yard received a report from an Inspector Weston in Barbados, and he mentioned her. Not by name; something about being honoured to work with someone so admired by Sir Henry Clithering, and how they never would have solved the case in time without her invaluable assistance.

Unable to resist the temptation, Dermot splashed out on an international phone call to Inspector Weston to ask about the case. More to the point, to ask about Miss Marple.

"You know her then?" the inspector asked, sounding delighted.

"Yes, I do," Dermot said.

"A very fine mind, wouldn't you say?"

"Indeed I would."

"Have you worked with her before?" he asked.

"Once," Dermot said. "I know her through my godfather, though."

"How lucky he is."

Dermot smiled. "He wants to marry her."

"Well then, man, he should snap her up while he can," Weston said.

"What do you mean?" he asked, concerned. "I know she was ill—"

"No, no, nothing like that," the inspector replied, laughing. "Only one of our guests took a shine to her. Jason Rafiel."

"The millionaire?" Damn.

"He helped her stop the murder, in a way. I don't think anything would come of it, he's too coarse for a lady like her. Much more suited to someone… well, like Sir Henry Clithering, who would appreciate her."

"Convenient, as Sir Henry is my godfather," Dermot remarked.

" _Really_?"

"Yes. Rafiel definitely showed interest towards her?"

"He did, but I don't think she noticed."

He winced. "That's my godfather's problem exactly. Well, thank you for telling me. This just might be enough to light a fire under Uncle Henry's tail. Thank you, Inspector Weston."

"It was nice talking to you, Inspector Craddock."

* * *

Uncle Henry pursed his lips. Dermot smiled behind his cup of tea.

"Jason Rafiel?"

"Yes, Uncle Henry. Helping her solve a murder."

"She solved it by herself," Uncle Henry replied, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Well, he loaned her his physical therapist to prevent another death," Dermot said, and he took another casual sip. "And got the authorities' attention for her. Close enough."

"Hmph."

"Uncle Henry—"

"She can't marry him!"

"Well, I don't think he ever asked her," Dermot said dryly. "It seems she _never_ notices anyone's romantic interest at her, not this late in life. Too busy arranging other people's love lives to pay attention to her own."

Uncle Henry sighed. "I've had the ring for a long time."

"Since you met at the Tuesday club?" he asked, half-jokingly, but his godfather nodded. Dermot's jaw dropped. "For someone so sure, you've made shockingly little progress."

"Do you have any suggestions?"

"The former commissioner of Scotland Yard wants my advice on something?" Dermot asked, swirling the tea in his cup. He grinned. "You must be desperate. Why don't you just go to St Mary Mead and ask her? No confusion that way."

Uncle Henry changed the subject. Then, as Dermot later found out, he did just that. Not that he was aware of the success until a wedding invitation arrived in the mail, as well as a personal note of thanks from Miss Marple… sorry, _Aunt Jane_.

* * *

"And another thing," Superintendent Slack said. Dermot raised his eyebrows.

"Sir?" he asked.

"While you're in St Mary Mead…" It obviously pained him, whatever he intended to say. "I suggest you make contact with an old lady there." Ah. Here it came. Dermot suppressed a smile. "Oh, she looks like what you'd expect. Don't be deceived. She's got a mind like a meat cleaver. She's the sort of person who could help you on this case. Her name is Miss… Jane… Marple." Oh no, it wasn't. "I'm not pressuring you, but I do advise you to interview her."

Time for the bombshell. Dermot was going to savour this. "That's all right, sir," he drawled. "I was intending to. She's my aunt."

Slack and Lake's expressions were priceless.

"Your… aunt?" Slack said.

"Yes," Dermot replied. "She is married to my godfather, has been for a few years."

"I thought your godfather was…" Lake trailed off, and Dermot dug his fingernails into his palms. It was a touchy subject, implications of nepotism, but he also needed to keep himself from laughing.

"Sir Henry Clithering, yes," Dermot said. "Didn't you know they were old friends? It took a long time for Uncle Henry to convince her to marry him. They're married in name, and see each other when they can." He frowned. "Uncle… Sir Henry still has enemies out there. For her safety, it's kept secret. Aunt Jane remains Miss Marple to everyone not in the know, Sir Henry arranges her to visit him because they can't risk living together, and… anything else is only for the family to know, I'm afraid." The superintendent and the sergeant were still gaping. "Shall we start on the case, sir?"

Slack nodded slowly, and Dermot rose. Lake followed him from the room, and Dermot was pleased to see his small, amused grin.

"Lady Jane Clithering," he heard Slack mutter. "I don't believe it."

* * *

 **Mum and I have been re-watching the Miss Marple series, and I was looking at something online when I read that Inspector Dermot Craddock is Sir Henry's godson. Since Miss Marple is Aunt Jane to her godchildren as well as her nieces and nephews, I thought that Craddock would probably call him Uncle Henry, and that it would be an excellent reason for him to go from calling her 'Miss Marple' in** _ **A Murder is Announced**_ **to 'Aunt Jane' in** _ **The Mirror Crack'd from Side to Side**_ **.**

 **So I wrote this. Hmm.**

 **Please review! My first time writing Agatha Christie fan fiction, so I'm nervous.**


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